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I mean, think about it for a minute.
Your mileage may vary, but I'm a lot safer in terms of job security -- if that's possible as a freelancer -- and my long term economic prospects are more secure since Bushie pushed for his No Child Left Behind program. This stealth dummification and virtual lobotomy program, like all Bushean initiatives, accomplishes the exact opposite of what its name would have you believe.
So NCLB virtually guarantees that the kids who will grow up to become my competitors will be uninformed, uncreative, sullen and surly, fact-deprived, lousy at spelling, grammar and punctuation and generally less competent than if Bush had simply kept his filthy hands off the curriculum and his epic stupidity out of their lives.
But while NCLB does a lifetime of disservice to the kids who have to deal with it, the competition going forward will be commensurately less threatening. And remember: "Rarely is the question asked, is our children learning?"
If I were a parent of a school-aged kid these days, I'd be seriously pissed off by NCLB and would probably consider private school, if I could afford it, or even a non-religious charter school before I'd subject the kid to a curriculum that met with the Bushies' approval. Talk about the kiss of death.
On other safety related topics, I'm also a lot less likely to get crushed by a falling tree since the Healthy Forests Initiative included clear-cutting as one of a variety of practices that contribute to the well-being of a forest. No more trees, no more unhealthy ones, no more unhealthy trees to fall on my head. Makes sense to me.
Same with the Clear Skies Act; used to be that gummint would be in charge of policing the crap industry sends into the air. Everybody knows gummint is completely useless, while industry is hyper-efficient and knows how to get stuff done. So it's only sensible that the Clear Skies Act takes regulatory power away from inefficient gummint bureaucrats and gives it to the people who know how to deal with this stuff -- the same people who made it in the first place.
Then there's hope, which springs eternal in my heart of hearts. However, my brain tells me I'm being "irrationally exuberant," as Greenspan once said about a dot-com fueled bull market and, because he was a complete dick and notorious kill-joy, the market took his word for it and tanked the very next day. But who needs brains in the Bush era?
If nothing else, the Bushies have taught me that, when things have completely disintegrated, there's no such thing as normal, and therefore there's really no good reason to bother getting up in the morning anymore, hope saves me from that long, irreversible slide into depression, inertia and despair... At which point I seal the deal by applying for work at 7-11. But none of that nonsense; I'm a hopeful guy these days.
I mainly hope that the junta will consent to leave office without the need for armed conflict. And that they'll try escaping to their 99,000 acres in Paraguay, only to find that el leftist reformer presidente Lugo has signed a ton of extradition treaties with more than 100 countries in anticipation of the Bushies' arrival.
And that he will ship their criminal asses straight to The Hague, where they can explain to the world why torture isn't really torture and why waterboarding isn't really much worse than washing your hair in the kitchen sink.
Hope also rises when I think about the possibility of a congress devoid of right wing democrat frauds, crooked war profiteers, invertebrates, Bushean enablers, Jane Harman, Nancy Pelosi, Steny Hoyer and the rest of these DLC-backed Vichy piles of ineffectual crap trying to pass as leaders and statesmen (in the non-gender-specific sense).
This is the difference between intelligent guessing and pure hopeful fantasy, unfortunately, because I really doubt enough voters are going to fire enough useless fake democrat incumbents to improve things all that much. Sure would be great to be wrong about that one, though.
So, those of you who've read all the way to here and have no excuse for it other than boredom, there's ample reason to accept the analysis of the snarling cyborg: the notorious connoisseur of barbecued infant flesh, grilled slowly over mesquite charcoal at twilight on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and served with sides of coleslaw and a baked potato, taking care to leave a little room for some pecan or sweet potato pie.
You know; that guy.
wp
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